


jade pieces

by figure8



Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Forbidden Love, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Period Typical Attitudes, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29292576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figure8/pseuds/figure8
Summary: On the day of the Crown Prince’s wedding, Jeon Wonwoo stands in the crowd of officials dressed in his best ceremonial green robes, his gaze impassible, his lips a thin pale line.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Kim Mingyu
Comments: 30
Kudos: 209
Collections: Haggly 2: The Remix





	jade pieces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Auber_Gine_Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auber_Gine_Dreams/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Some Time (No Matter Where)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23030404) by [Auber_Gine_Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auber_Gine_Dreams/pseuds/Auber_Gine_Dreams). 



> additional warnings: arranged marriage (not between the main pairing), multiple references to alcohol, genderbending of a minor character
> 
> actual author note incoming. i'm trying to maintain anonymity, or something. this is a remix, but it can be read as a standalone
> 
> EDIT HELLO HI IT IS ME WITH YET ANOTHER HISTORICAL AU. i guess i'm a meanie shipper now. who would have thought. for maximum effect listen to [this](https://open.spotify.com/track/7djAO4zyKbZOTF3dOJcAwr?si=FX7yuovVTniYcM-vgWvT_g) while reading 
> 
> my dearest leesa, it was extremely fun to #get #you with this. i hope i did your incredible fic justice. that chapter lives RENT FREE in my head.

_When I was a child and my mother would see me sad  
_ _she would lean down and ask. What is it, my boy?  
_ _I would not talk. I would only look behind her shoulder  
_ _at a world empty of you._

 _And as I twirled the pencil in my hand  
_ _I was learning to write songs for you._

— Tasos Leivaditis

  
  
  


On the day of the Crown Prince’s wedding, Jeon Wonwoo stands in the crowd of officials dressed in his best ceremonial green robes, his gaze impassible, his lips a thin pale line. When Mingyu walks past him, eyes fixed to the horizon, the golden hairpin holding his headpiece together glints sharply under the sun. A handful of hours before, Wonwoo was the one to tie his hair and pull it up in a bun. Wonwoo was the one who commissioned the crown, picked the jade beads lining the sixteen strings hanging from the front and the back, their shadows dancing like arrows over Mingyu’s face. Wonwoo was the one who made sure every invitation had been sent to the noble families. Wonwoo was the one who handed the King the pot of ink to dip his pen into when he signed the wedding contract with the Lee Clan. Everything that happens today, Wonwoo had a hand in. Mostly literally. 

It is a beautiful ceremony. Lee Jihoon is petite and pretty in a feline way, her face like a heart, her eyes almond-shaped. Draped in heavy red and dark blue, she sits with her back straighter than a tree and never wavers. On her left, Mingyu should look imposing, enormous by contrast, but he doesn’t. His body is taut like the string of a hunting bow. He sits as if he would like nothing more than to disappear into thin air. Somehow he looks smaller than Wonwoo has ever seen him. 

  
  


🌾

  
  


When they were children, Wonwoo had to be taught to call the Prince by his first name. It didn’t stick no matter how much Mingyu insisted. It didn’t stick no matter how much Mingyu _bothered_ him, pushing, tugging at his sleeve, trying to climb on his back, always hanging off Wonwoo’s shoulder. _Wonwoo,_ yelled across the courtyard. _Wonwoo,_ whispered during writing lessons, under their tutor’s scolding glare. _Wonwoo,_ in the palace’s corridors. _Wonwoo,_ laughed on a sunny afternoon near the lake. _Wonwoo,_ pleading, when Mingyu wanted to get away with something. 

And in response, always _Wonja._ My Prince, my Prince, my Prince. 

  
  


🌾

  
  


“When I am King,” Mingyu says, “You will be my advisor.” 

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I will not be anything at all if you do not let me study. Some of us must actually pass examinations to be given our job, remember?” 

Mingyu flops back dramatically. His cheeks are red, his pupils wide. Wonwoo squints at what he thought, until now, was a small cup of tea.

“Have you been having rice wine the entire afternoon?” 

“Maybe?” Mingyu grins. “I am Crown Prince now. You can’t tell me what to do.” 

Wonwoo snorts. “I could never tell you what to do. Your Highness,” he adds after a beat. 

For some incomprehensible reason, Mingyu seems to _genuinely_ enjoy it when Wonwoo drops his title, which is unfortunate, because it makes Wonwoo feel like he has swallowed a bunch of bees every time. It is worse now that the King has officially designated him as his successor. _Seja_ tastes heavy on Wonwoo’s tongue. Final. Like something unavoidable. 

Mingyu has two older half-brothers. Their claim to the throne is tenuous, because their mother is a concubine and Mingyu is the Queen Consort’s first son. But it is a claim nonetheless, and Wonwoo is never not aware of it. Mingyu does not understand that, because he does not want to understand it. He chooses to see the world as an instrument that will always bend to his will. He loves his brothers. He will not believe they wish him harm until he wakes up to a dagger at his throat. Maybe even then, Wonwoo thinks bitterly. Maybe even then he would still try to reach a compromise. 

It does not matter. Mingyu’s stupidly soft heart would be a problem if he was the one actually making the decisions, but he is not, and he never will be. This is what Wonwoo was raised to do. In the Prince’s shadow, in the Prince’s good graces. Wonwoo can be distrustful and cunning enough for two.

  
  


🌾

  
  


Wonwoo is six years old when his mother kisses the top of his head and tells him he is making his family proud. He is wrapped in a light blue woolen shawl and put inside a palanquin, and six servants carry him across the white-covered valley to the Royal Palace. Wonwoo’s first memory of the Court is this: snowflakes and tears muddying his vision, the sharpest reds and yellows, the deep sound of the drum, and the smell of his mother’s hair still lingering in the January air. 

  
  


🌾

  
  


“He cannot do this!” Mingyu shouts. He opens the sliding door of his room with such force the walls around them shake. “I refuse. Do you hear me? I refuse. You can go tell him. I will not do it.” 

Wonwoo carefully shuts the door behind them again. 

“You know that he can.” He wants to touch Mingyu in a way that is prohibited by royal etiquette. Wants to reach out first, caress, _reassure._ “The matter has already been settled.” 

_I was there,_ he doesn’t say. _I was there. I watched your father negotiate your body and your honor against the securing of the northern border and higher taxes in the eastern provinces. I passed him a quill and ink. It was a good bargain. Nothing to lose and everything to gain._ He doesn’t say, _my only purpose has always been to ensure the best for you even and especially when you cannot see it yourself._

“Wonwoo,” Mingyu says. Inside Wonwoo’s ribcage, something comes undone. “I have never even met her.” 

Wonwoo puts his hands on his forearms, over three layers of fabric. He cannot feel Mingyu’s pulse, that would be ludicrous, but for a split second against all reason he _does._

Mingyu wraps his fingers around Wonwoo’s wrists in response. 

“I cannot be expected to— my father would not _force_ me.” 

_Your father loves you like a soldier loves his sword,_ Wonwoo does not say. 

“You know that if there was something I could do, I would. You are not just my Prince.” Mingyu tightens his hold on Wonwoo’s wrists. Wonwoo’s voice is too even. He is listening to himself from above, as if floating outside his own body. It is a very curious sensation. “You are my closest friend. All I can do is stay by your side and guide you to the best of my ability when the time comes.” 

For a terrifying furtive moment Wonwoo thinks he has miscalculated for the first time in his life. Mingyu is looking at him with such naked, raw longing that Wonwoo is convinced, for a second, that everything he has worked so hard to put into place is going to crumble like a house of cards before his very eyes. 

But then Mingyu blinks, and he lets him go. Their hands brush very softly as they break apart. Wonwoo’s entire body aches. It is an old pain. He truly thought he would be used to it by now. 

  
  


🌾

  
  


Wonwoo spends years hating the Prince. He hates him with rightful rage at first, for stealing him from his home. He hates him for being younger and smaller and slower. He hates him for how he never pays attention during lessons and yet does not get scolded. He hates him for how smart he is, how quick, when for Wonwoo most things seem to take ages to master. The Prince is rewarded with no effort, as if life itself were a royal subject, obliged to tell him yes. He hates him for the sideways glances and giggles from every pretty girl they cross paths with. He hates him for every night he managed to sneak out of his own chambers to tiptoe into Wonwoo’s. He hates him for his easy smiles that win everyone over. He hates him for his grating voice and his whining and his pedantry and his gloating, hates him most of all because he can back it up. Hates him for his sword-fighting skills, hates him for his singing, hates him for the elegant curve of his letters on rice paper, hates him for his straight nose, hates him for speaking with his hands, hates him, hates him. 

And for all those years he loves him too, loves him, loves him to death, because it is what he was sent here for, because it is what he was told to do, because what else is he supposed to do, what else, when Mingyu turns to him and says—

  
  


🌾

  
  


_Do you ever wish to go home? When I am King, I will bring your parents to Court. I will give you a title. I will give you the pavilion behind the Queen’s quarters. I will give you your freedom, Wonwoo, if you wish to live away from me._

  
  


🌾

  
  


The problem, as it turns out, is that Wonwoo does not wish to live away from him. The bigger problem, Wonwoo realizes soon after, is that his Prince does not wish to be parted from him either. 

  
  


🌾

  
  


“Wonwoo, please,” Mingyu begs. The night has fallen over the palace like a heavy coat. When the sun rises, Mingyu is expected to meet his father at the bronze door on his horse, and the Royal convoy will travel east to the Lee Clan’s lands for a formal introduction, as is custom. There Mingyu will kneel and ask Lee Jihoon’s parents for her hand. Wonwoo is the architect behind this project, and so he truly has no place feeling this terrible about it. 

“I cannot bear this without you,” Mingyu presses. He is talking about more than just the trip. Wonwoo sighs. 

“I will never leave you. You know that.” Mingyu’s face lights up, and Wonwoo shakes his head. “But I cannot go with you to meet your bride.” 

“Why?” Wonwoo recognizes the angle of Mingyu’s raised eyebrow, the anger taking shape. “I believe we both know the reason. I want to hear you say it.” 

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. _Because it would be incredibly inappropriate, first of all._ Wonwoo would not go even if this _wasn’t_ the case, but it is typical, really, for Mingyu not to realize that he is asking for things that are simply _not done._

Mingyu deflates visibly when it becomes clear Wonwoo isn’t going to give him an answer. 

“You are the most important person in my life,” he says, his voice shaky in a way that hurts Wonwoo in his spleen. “There is no place for me in this world without you. If things were different, I—”

This is what Wonwoo cannot hear. “But they are not. This is how it must be. You will marry the Lee daughter, and you will be King. You will have a son, a daughter too if you are lucky, and I will be in your shadow for the rest of your days.”

Mingyu’s expression _twists._ He takes a step forward, and Wonwoo reflexively takes a step back, but the door is just behind him and he slams into it backwards. Before he can get his bearings back, Mingyu has him surrounded, hands on either side of his head. The warmth emanating from his body is almost suffocating. 

Mingyu bares his teeth. “You have never belonged in my shadow, Jeon Wonwoo. Let me show you how it could be, just once. Let me show you where you belong.”

Wonwoo swallows dryly. His breath is coming out in short, harsh huffs, and so is Mingyu’s. It hurts not touching him. It hurts, it hurts, and Wonwoo is _tired_ of hurting. 

Mingyu reaches for him, tucks a strand of hair that escaped his ponytail in the scuffle behind his ear. He traces the line of Wonwoo’s jaw with one knuckle. Wonwoo lets out a pathetic noise. 

“I can’t. I cannot do this.” He watches Mingyu’s face fall and can do nothing to console him. He knows he should leave it at that, but he cannot bear the thought of Mingyu believing he is unwanted. “If we— if I let myself have you, even for a moment, I do not think I will be able to return to the way things must be.” 

Mingyu says nothing. His shoulders are trembling. 

“They say she is very beautiful,” Wonwoo tries. “You will learn to love her. The kingdom must come first.”

“You think I would ignore my duty?” Mingyu hisses, loudly upset now. “I will do what must be done, for my kingdom and for my people, but must I be denied even this?” He brings his hand to Wonwoo’s cheek again, and Wonwoo is not made of metal. Wonwoo is a man, and so he leans into his palm, closes his eyes. “Let me kiss you, just once,” Mingyu whispers. “I can bear anything if you will give me that.”

 _No,_ Wonwoo thinks. _No, you won’t. You will want more. You will want more, and I will let you._

“I hope you will allow me to deny you, Seja. If you were to order me, I would have no choice.” Wonwoo’s exhale is shaky. “But you are not the man your father is. I have seen the King you will become. I hope you can forgive me for this.”

Mingyu lets him go. Every step Wonwoo takes is heavier than lead. 

  
  


🌾

  
  


Princess Jihoon takes one look at Wonwoo and _knows._ He can tell from the way she stares him down, one head shorter than him even on her bamboo platform sandals, her bright red lips pinched in a discontented moue. 

He can tell, too, because she stops him in a hallway and hisses “He is _my_ husband,” proprietary and direct, with a sharp confidence he did not think she possessed. 

For maybe the first time in his entire existence, he is overtaken by the dizzying need to bite back. _He’s mine, he was mine first, he will never be yours like he’s mine._

But immediately he comes back to his senses. This marriage needs to hold, for the Kingdom. It needs to _take,_ for Mingyu. A male heir would ensure Mingyu’s life. It is a lot more trouble to assassinate a King _and_ his son.

Besides, he knows that if they start counting, Lee Jihoon is always going to come out on top. 

  
  


🌾

  
  


He finds his Prince in one of the endless little pavilions in the inner gardens, slumped on the floor barely propped up against a table, curled up around a bottle. 

“She’s lovely,” Mingyu says. He’s drunk. Not the lighthearted, giggly kind of drunk he often is at the end of the day, tripping on furniture and holding on for too long; he is drunk like sailors are drunk when they spend one night on the shore, with the desperation of always-exiled men. He reeks of liquor. His eyes are rimmed red. “She’s lovely,” he says again, “My wife.” 

“Seja,” Wonwoo says quietly, “I think it is time to return to your quarters.” 

“She knows how to sing,” Mingyu continues, ignoring him. Or maybe he hasn’t heard him. Maybe he’s too drunk to care. “She knows how to sing,” he hiccups, “Yesterday she sang me to sleep. She came to bed in a silk robe. She smelled like roses. I couldn’t fuck her.” 

“Wangseja!” Wonwoo exclaims, scandalized. Mingyu puts down the porcelain carafe and looks up at him. 

“Aren’t you my closest friend, Jeon Wonwoo?”

“Please,” Wonwoo says. “Your Highness. It is very late, and—”

“Would you have me return to my marital bed?” Mingyu laughs humorlessly. “Did you know this marriage is void? It was never consummated.”

 _“Stop talking,”_ Wonwoo hisses, frantically checking behind him for onlookers. 

“Shouldn’t you know these things?” Mingyu asks, pointed, _bitter._ “Aren’t you my most trusted advisor? Aren’t you the man behind the scenes? How did you put it again— in my shadow?” 

Wonwoo sucks in a breath. “You’re being mean on purpose.” 

Mingyu gets up so fast he almost topples the table. He is furious, suddenly. “Oh, you think? You think, you piece of shit, you picked her, _you picked her for me,_ of course I am being mean on purpose, you’re lucky I don’t throw you in a dungeon—”

 _“You had to get married!”_ Wonwoo yells back. In a minute at most he will realize he is screaming at his Prince and clamp a hand over his own mouth in shock, but in the moment he can only think of making Mingyu _understand._ “Your father was going to find you a wife no matter what, you imbecile, I was only trying to make this easier for you, all I ever do is for you, do you even know—”

The first thing that registers is the sharp sting of teeth against his upper lip. Then Wonwoo gets the wind knocked out of him when his back hits the hard stone of the wall behind him, and Mingyu’s hands are in his hair, and Mingyu’s body is pressed against his, and Mingyu is—

“No,” he gasps. “No, Seja—”

“I should have ordered you, that night,” Mingyu growls. “You think I am a better man than my father? You’re wrong.” 

Wonwoo wants him so badly he can hardly think. 

“Mingyu,” he says. Mingyu kisses him again, not gentler but more focused this time. Wonwoo’s hand clasps the front of his robes. “Mingyu,” he says again. “Mingyu, stop.” 

Mingyu closes his eyes and takes a deep, shaking breath. He drops his forehead on Wonwoo’s shoulder. Wonwoo cards tender fingers through his hair. 

“I want you to live,” he says. “I want you to ascend to the throne, and be respected, and be _beloved._ I want you to leave your mark on history.” 

“I want _you,”_ Mingyu retorts, and it is so honest and heartbroken that Wonwoo does not know how to refuse him. He cradles Mingyu’s face in his hands, kisses him, tries to infuse all the words he cannot say into the sweet slide of their mouths together. 

“You have me,” he murmurs when they break apart, foreheads touching. “You have me in every way but one. Can’t this be enough?” 

Mingyu slowly detaches his body from Wonwoo’s. Every cell in Wonwoo screams in protest. 

“I hope you can forgive my inappropriate conduct,” he says after a too-long silence. “I do not know what overtook me.” 

“A king does not apologize to his subjects,” Wonwoo says. 

Mingyu looks at him with sad, restless eyes. “I am not king yet, Jeon Wonwoo.” 

  
  


🌾 

  
  


The King passes on an early December morning. The earth mourns for him, wears white for days, cries up a storm. Mingyu leads the funerary procession in a heavy ivory coat lined with fur, the tremor in his hands almost imperceptible. He is crying when he lowers the torch. His eyes are dry by the time he turns back around. From the corner of his vision, Wonwoo sees the Princess leaning into him, Mingyu’s head bowed in her direction, their arms clasped together, curving towards each other like sunflowers. 

Mingyu is crowned King barely a day later. He sits on the Phoenix Throne, almost swallowed by his gold-embroidered red robes, and looks nothing like himself. The room erupts in a flurry of _mansae, mansae, manmansae!_ Wonwoo already misses seeing his hair. 

  
  


🌾

“When I am King,” Mingyu whispers excitedly, “I will have you moved to the rooms right next to mine, and I will build a secret door so that you do not have to announce yourself every time you want to talk to me.” 

Wonwoo frowns. “That’s going to be in a very long time. You will be,” he pauses to count on his fingers. “I don’t know. At least thirty! Very old.” 

He hears fabric rustling. Mingyu is in Wonwoo’s bed, same as every time he has snuck in to see Wonwoo at night. Wonwoo sleeps on the floor, at his own insistence, because it is not proper for a prince to share a bed, and it certainly isn’t proper for a prince to stay anywhere but _in_ a bed when one is available. Wonwoo is fairly sure that even if there was no bed, his duty would be to find one anyway. 

“When you are King,” Wonwoo says, “You will have a wife, and a family. You will not want me there all the time. Besides, you can see how adults are. They have no time to play.” 

Mingyu snorts. “You already have no time to play. Lately every day I have to steal you from a lesson.” 

Wonwoo props himself on his elbows to be able to look him in the eye. “I want to lead the Hongmungwan. I will never become Chief Scholar if I don’t _study.”_

“You and your books,” Mingyu chortles. 

“If what I wanted was to surround myself by _books,_ Wonja, I would seek to become the Deputy Chief Scholar, who _actually_ runs the Office. Have you paid no attention at all during our classes on administration?” 

“No,” Mingyu says honestly. “I lost track somewhere around the Office of Inspectors General. Isn’t that what I have you for, anyway?” 

Wonwoo pinches the bridge of his nose. “You will not be able to promote me to the State Council if I don’t make it into one of the Three Offices. And if I am not on the State Council, then you will be alone at Court. And if you are alone, you are vulnerable.”

“When I become King—”

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo interrupts him, rising from the floor mats. Mingyu stares at him a little dumbfounded. “It is important that you understand this. Your father is not actually all-powerful, and neither will you be. There are things not even a sovereign can handwave.” 

“What about Yeonsan-gun, then?”

Wonwoo recoils, horrified. “He was a tyrannical despot who murdered half his Court and died disgraced in exile, Mingyu.” 

“But he did what he wanted,” Mingyu points out. “I’m not saying I want to purge the Council. I am simply saying that what you’re telling me is only half a truth.” 

Wonwoo has nothing to answer to that. He does not know how to make it any clearer to his Prince— that this Court is a fragile ecosystem governed only in the most perfect balance; that a single misstep will cost _anyone_ their life, even if they sit on a throne of mahogany and gold. He is barely twelve years old and he knows his destiny rests on the shoulders of the boy in his bed, a boy clearly determined to ruin it all, because he is physically incapable of not crossing every line he meets. Wonwoo is terrified of him. Wonwoo is terrified for him. 

  
  


🌾

  
  


On the second year of his reign, the Queen consort gives Mingyu a daughter. She has her father’s eyes and her mother’s nose. Mingyu adores her. Wonwoo can only see how useless she is. 

  
  


🌾

  
  


On the third year of his reign, the Queen consort gives Mingyu a second daughter. The Halls are alight with gossip. Wonwoo starts combing the Palace’s registries for unmarried noblewomen. 

  
  


🌾

  
  


On the fourth year of his reign, Mingyu drinks a cup of sweet jasmine tea during a Council meeting, chokes on his own breath, and collapses on the ground. 

  
  


🌾

  
  


Wonwoo would love to say that he was the first to act. That he rose to his feet, rushed to his King’s side. That he yelled orders, that he called for help, that he told the guards to find the servant who served the tea. That he shoved his fingers down Mingyu’s throat, for fuck’s sake, that he tried _something._

He doesn’t move. Frozen, _frozen,_ he watches his worst nightmare unfold in front of him and does not move. He stays kneeling behind his desk, uncontained by his own body and simultaneously a prisoner of it, watches Mingyu convulse, foam at the mouth. Watches Mingyu’s body go still. 

A Court Lady finds him roaming the corridors of the Western Wing hours later, aimless, his eyes empty. _Chief Scholar Jeon,_ and a gentle hand on his forearm. _My Lord, you’re going to hurt yourself._ Wonwoo thinks he laughs at that. 

  
  


🌾

  
  


Against all odds, Mingyu does not die.

“He didn’t drink enough poison for his heart to stop.” 

Lee Jihoon is beautiful in her pale pink robes. Her hair is pinned up with an elaborate silver hairpin, her cheeks rosy even under the white powder her Court Ladies patted all over her face in the morning. Her gaze is always pointed, always sharp. In another life, maybe, Wonwoo could stand to be her friend. 

“Thank you for informing me, Your Royal Highness,” Wonwoo bows. He thinks he might topple over, for a millisecond. 

“I am not informing you,” Jihoon huffs, clearly bothered. “He called for you. The first thing he asked for after _water_ was _you.”_

Wonwoo bows a second time. “Your Royal Highness, I mean no infringement upon your house.” 

The Queen _glares_ at him with such force Wonwoo is surprised he remains upright. He can see the muscle in her jaw twitch, as if she has to physically contain the words inside her mouth. 

“I know you do not _mean_ any of it,” she says finally. She sounds less angry than he expected. “That does not change much about our situation.” 

Wonwoo would argue that it changes a great deal, but he did not arrive to where he is by antagonizing royals. 

“May I see him?” he asks instead, very conscious of how horribly eager he sounds, how _weak._ He is a sad excuse for a councilman, an even sadder excuse for a Royal Advisor, which is probably why Mingyu has not actually solicited any advice from him in months. 

“Who am I to refuse the will of the Phoenix? He wants you by his side. Do you understand, Jeon Wonwoo?”

“No,” Wonwoo says very stupidly, and also very rudely. He catches himself about that, at least. “Your Royal Highness.” 

Lee Jihoon rolls her eyes. “My husband loves me. I think he could even want me, if he had it in him to want anybody that is not you. He certainly could fool himself enough to give me two children.” 

Wonwoo forgets who he is talking to. “You are being cruel.” 

“Of course I am,” Jihoon says snappily. “There is no other way to survive in this place.” She leans in closer to Wonwoo, grabs him by the collar of his dark blue robes. “I am going to give him a son, and I am going to put my flesh and blood on the Phoenix Throne. This is what matters to me. My husband _alive,_ and my child king. It should matter to you too.”

Wonwoo tastes bile under his tongue. “What matters to me is not your concern.” 

“We have converging interests, Chief Scholar. One of them is keeping him safe. The other one is keeping him _happy.”_

Wonwoo blinks. “You want me to sleep with the King.” 

“I want you to ensure that he does not waste away. How you do that is none of my concern. Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she scoffs. “You were going to find him a second wife.” 

“That is _not_ the same,” Wonwoo splutters. 

Jihoon raises an elegant eyebrow. “Really? In what way?”

“Because,” Wonwoo starts. “Because. Because marriage is a contract. Marriage is a _necessity._ Because I—”

“He’s in love with you,” Jihoon says very quietly. “And you’re in love with him.” 

“He’s weak,” Wonwoo protests frantically. “You know it’s true. He has almost no allies. Your _cousins_ do not back him up, even with you in the balance. _Someone tried to kill him._ The last thing he needs is a scandal.” 

“Then don’t get caught,” Jihoon orders him, implacable. 

  
  


🌾

  
  


“Wonwoo,” Mingyu says the second Wonwoo passes the threshold of his room, urgent. “Wonwoo, they’re going to execute the serving girl. Help me get dressed. I have to stop them.” 

Wonwoo would march through fire for this man. 

“Your Majesty,” he falls to his knees. _“Wonja.”_

_My Prince. My Prince._

  
  


🌾

  
  


When they were children, Wonwoo remembers observing Mingyu run through the palace halls with the curiosity of a new arrivant in a foreign country. Back home, this sort of improper behavior had been forbidden, rectified with a swift hit to his knuckles or a strong hand reeling him back in by the collar of his tunic. But here, in the most sacred place in all of Joseon, the son of the Phoenix was allowed to run inside, and yell, and _demand_ things. Wonwoo can still recall the bladed sting of jealousy, the red at the corner of his vision. How easy it had been to despise Mingyu then. How easy it should have been for the rest of their lives, if Mingyu wasn’t so earnest even at his most selfish. If Mingyu had not taken one long look at Wonwoo and decided that all the rules that did not apply to him should not apply to Wonwoo either. He was wrong, of course. He was wrong. But he had wanted them to be equals so badly, with the will of a King; and Wonwoo knew not to believe royal lies, but even he was only human, only flesh and bone, so susceptible to the siren call of being _seen._

  
  


🌾

  
  


Wonwoo undresses Mingyu with the same patient care he dressed him with. He has seen him naked before: in the steam baths, on the riverbank when they were adolescent boys, one time when Mingyu hurt his shoulder falling from his horse and would not allow anyone else to help him wash. It is different when it is done with intent, Wonwoo discovers. He presses his palm flat against Mingyu’s stomach, revels in the rolling movement of muscle tensing under skin.

“You almost died,” he murmurs. “I thought I lost you.” 

Mingyu grins like the sun. “And leave you alone in this world? Never.” 

_This is why these things are forbidden,_ Wonwoo thinks deliriously when Mingyu cups his face and kisses his mouth. Flames lick up his spine, his skeleton a house ablaze. 

“You are half my soul,” Mingyu says against his collarbone. “If you are my shadow, it is in this way. For you to be parted from me, the sun would have to die.” 

Wonwoo arches up into his touch, seeking, craving. “You have read the poets, I see,” he gasps. Mingyu smiles wickedly. 

“I don’t need guidance to talk about you, but I know it pleases you greatly to know that I open the books you insist on lending me. I can recite my favorite, if you’d like.” 

Wonwoo glares at him, and Mingyu laughs. Crystalline. Alive. 

  
  


🌾

  
  


Wonwoo has fucked other people. Women, mostly, but a few men as well. First lying to himself, as a test, to make sure it was not just _Mingyu._ Then simply because he wanted to— because sometimes this is what his body desires. Sometimes he wants to fuck another man, hold him down, press him into the mattress, bite his shoulder as he comes. He tells himself it has nothing to do with Mingyu, actually, because if he could— if he was allowed to— if he—

Well, it would not be like that. He would not treat his Prince like that. He would kiss Mingyu’s ankle. He would take him in his mouth. He would let Mingyu fuck _him._

  
  


🌾

  
  


It is like that. Wonwoo says _Your Majesty_ and Mingyu grunts _shut up_ and Wonwoo pins him to the bed to kiss him playfully, kiss him _tender,_ but Mingyu makes a soft pleading sound and struggles where Wonwoo has him by the wrists and it is like that. 

He opens Mingyu up with his fingers and perfumed salve and his mouth on Mingyu’s cock, until Mingyu is shaking under him, begging. Every noise he makes is liquid fire in Wonwoo’s veins. He thinks Mingyu notices, because he lets his mouth fall open, says a few things he should frankly be embarrassed by. Wonwoo feels insane. Feels like a monster has been living inside his body for years, and now it has finally broken free. 

He pulls off, slithers up to whisper against the shell of Mingyu’s ear, _has anyone else ever had you like this?_ And Mingyu moans _no, no, just you— only you._

Wonwoo fucks him like this, face to face. It is less practical, but he gets to watch Mingyu’s face contort in pleasure with every thrust, lips slightly parted. His moans are quieter now, breathless. _Wonwoo,_ he gasps. _Wonwoo,_ almost strangled, a mangled sentence he cannot finish, _Wonwoo, Wonwoo—_

“Seja,” Wonwoo grunts. Holds him by the jaw, thumb digging into flesh hard enough to bruise, and kisses him open-mouthed. Wrong title. Mingyu scratches red lines across his back, rolls his hips to meet his movements. Sea and shore, sea and shore. Wonwoo wants to tell him something he has no words for. Sea and shore. 

  
  


🌾

  
  


“Is this what it takes, then?” Mingyu asks after, his fingers combing tenderly through Wonwoo’s long black hair. “Must I almost die to have you?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Wonwoo snorts, too exhausted to be horrified. “You have your wife to thank.” He hides his face into the crook of Mingyu’s neck. 

“She is very clever,” Mingyu nods, serious. “I would like to offer her something she has never received before. A river, maybe.”

“She wants a son,” Wonwoo says, muffled against Mingyu’s damp skin. He wants to press a kiss to the junction of his throat and his shoulder, and he can, he _can,_ so he does. 

“I will give her three sons,” Mingyu declares, clearly emboldened. Wonwoo waits for the acidic sting of jealousy. 

It does not come. 

🌾 🌾 🌾

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed this, i would love to hear your thoughts. kudos and comments are the fuel that keep me going etc etc. i love you all, see you next time! and if you are so inclined, i am on [twitter](http://twitter.com/junmotions)!


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